


what makes you happy? (let's find out)

by halfeatenmoon



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Cooking, Dancing, M/M, Obliviousness, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-28 05:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19387405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfeatenmoon/pseuds/halfeatenmoon
Summary: Natasha wants Sam to keep trying to get Steve to date. Sam find Steve something to love other than fighting.





	what makes you happy? (let's find out)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NachoDiablo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachoDiablo/gifts).



When Natasha pulled Sam aside at the end of Fury's funeral and said she needed his help, he assumed it was something serious. He was still deep in his head trying to pretend to mourn for a man he knew full well was lurking a hundred feet away, and it took a few moments to register that what Nat was asking for was that he _look after Steve Rogers_.

“He's Captain America. I'm here to follow him into the fight, but he doesn't need me to look after him.”

“You know how he threw away his shield and let that guy beat the pulp out of him while they were falling out of the sky?”

“Yeah, but that was his buddy.”

“Maybe you’re the wrong person to ask.”

Sam raised his hands. “It’s okay, I get it. Look, I work with vets all the time and I know what it looks like when someone's really about to self-destruct. I'm just saying I don't think he's doing too badly, and I've got his back in a fight already.”

Nat made a non-committal noise. “I think I started this on the wrong foot. It's not about the fighting so much as everything else. I've been trying to get him to date. Can you pick that up while I'm gone?”

Sam looked at Steve, who was earnestly shaking hands and offering condolences a few yards away even though he knew full well that Fury was still alive. He looked back at Natasha. Then he looked back at Steve. The beautifully swept hair, the perfectly shaped torso, the arms, that ass…

“There is no way that man needs my help getting a date.”

“Which is why that’s not what I said. We all know women love him. But he’s only been living in the modern world for two years, he doesn’t know anyone outside of his superhero work and most of that has just betrayed him and burned out of the sky. He needs to move on. I’ve been pushing him to see people, but he needs the push, and I’m going to be too busy getting indicted for a while to do it.”

Sam laughed. “Okay, why the hell not. I’m already his wingman, may as well make it official. You got any girls in mind I should know about?”

Nat grimaced. “Not any more. Honestly, I’m not much better when it comes to connections. Almost everyone I knew was at SHIELD, and I don’t know who we can trust any more. I thought you’d know some girls.”

“I don’t have a list of eligible ladies for him to call up, but I don’t think that’s his style anyway.” Sam looked over at Steve again, thoughtfully. “I don’t want to go hooking him up with other veterans. That could go badly. I'm used to getting ex-soldiers to move on with their lives. I think I can handle this.”

It was 10 o’clock at night when Steve found their first lead on Bucky, a former HYDRA safe house on the other side of West Virginia. Sam had to talk him down from leaving right away.

“Six hours is not gonna make that much difference to him, and it means arriving well-rested for us.”

“I’ll be okay without sleep.”

“Yeah, but I won’t, and I am not letting you drive my car unsupervised.”

“We could steal one?” Steve asked, hopefully, which was when Sam knew he had the argument won.

They were both up before dawn, easily, their morning jogging patterns holding firm even though neither of them had been out much in the week since SHIELD went down. The weather would warm up later, but for now it was all frosty air and pre-dawn dark. When Steve got in the car, Sam could see his breath puffing out in hazy clouds.

“This bites,” Sam said, because someone had to point it out.

“You can take it.”

“I could, but I don’t have to.” Sam flicked a switch by the clutch. “Seat warmers. Don’t you love this century?”

“You’re soft this century,” Steve said, but he didn’t try to disguise the sigh of pleasure as he pressed his back into the slowly warming seat cushion.

Sam was pulling out of his suburban streets and getting some speed up when Steve rummaged around on his seat and pulled out a leaflet. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s this?”

“That, my friend, is a course guide for the DC Adult Education Center.”

“Hey!” Steve said, sharply. Sam took a glance at him. That wasn’t the kind of sound he could joke about.

“What?”

“Is this for me?”

“I keep a lot of them to give out at the VA, but I thought you might be interested. You are, after all, a vet.”

“Just because I didn’t finish high school doesn’t mean I need an education. I can read perfectly.”

“If you’re so good at reading, why don’t you read the course descriptions, then?”

Sam enjoyed the silence that followed and switched the radio to an oldies station. Nothing like a bit of Stevie Wonder to take you down the highway in the early morning. He was just beginning to hum along to “Signed, Sealed, Delivered” when Steve cleared his throat.

“So this is a school for… hobbies?”

“Sure, it’s a place to learn things for fun, or just to pick up new skills. Some of them you could use to get a job. That’s what a lot of vets do.”

“I don’t need a job.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Sam glanced over at him, but Steve was staring steadfastly out ahead. “Come on, man, you must know why I’m putting this in front of you.”

Steve didn’t answer.

“Remember the second time we met? When you weren’t sure what to do next, and I asked you what makes you happy?”

“I found something that comes next. We’re going to find Bucky.”

“And that’s what makes you happy?”

“I’ll be happy when we find him.”

“Okay. And what if it takes us years to track him down? Do cold leads and motel rooms make you that happy.”

Steve finally looked at him with a stubborn frown. “Chasing cold leads with you makes me happy.”

That surprised a goofy grin and a laugh out of him. “Aw, for real? That’s adorable.”

“I wouldn’t work with you otherwise.”

“I’m flattered. For real, though, even between leads there’s going to be downtime, and I still plan to go to work. You should do something fun with it. And maybe meet some normal human beings.”

It was fun the way Sam could hear the moment he gave up, in just a quick little sigh.

“Guess it doesn’t hurt.” Steve looked down at the leaflet in his lap again. “There’s a lot here, Sam. How do I know what’s good?”

“There’s lots you could try. You could play an instrument, write a memoir, learn to knit…”

“I know how to knit,” Steve said, indignantly.

Sam laughed, then said “Wait, really?”

“Do people not knit any more?”

“No, we buy all our clothes at the mall. You used to knit?”

“Everyone used to knit, how else do you stay warm in winter? I was good at it, I had small fingers.”

Sam slapped the wheel. “Man, I am the luckiest guy on earth, getting to chauffeur Captain America around and hear about how he used to knit. You gotta pick something, though. Come on, you’re great at punching things and throwing things and speeches, but what do you _wish_ you were good at?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. So let’s find out.”

Sam picked the cooking course because it would be good for Steve, not something he was going to get a lot out of himself. He knew how to cook - it wasn’t gourmet or anything, but he learned all his favorite recipes from home when he moved out, and picked up a few new ones to impress dates. He was expecting a lot of basic stuff, or unnecessarily fussy chef things, techniques that were ‘correct’ but didn’t matter a bit when it came to making food that tasted good. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that the first class has them making phở from scratch, and the rest of the curriculum is modern, cross-cultural, and all stuff he would actually like to cook.

“You meant that thing about having to look into Thai food, huh?”

“Well, you haven’t taken me out for Thai yet.”

“Only because our road trips keep taking us to towns with nothing but a pizza place.”

“You love pizza!”

“I do, but I don't have a supersoldier metabolism. I can't keep in shape on pizza alone.” He looked around the group. It was a pretty diverse group - a few younger women, but plenty of older people too. Though maybe Rogers wouldn’t be that picky about age. “No shortage of people here who would love to take you out for Thai, I bet.”

“I guess. But I’m here to learn how to cook,” Steve said, literally rolling up his sleeves.

The first lesson went exactly as Sam intended. They start off working side by side, but when Steve looks baffled at having to peel a knob of ginger, Sam called out to the woman at the next table for her opinion. Soon she and Steve both had their heads bent over his chopping board, and Sam was sidling away to ask someone else their opinion on his stock.

Cooking like this was actually pretty fun. He’d never thought to learn how to make food like this before, and he wasn’t sure how often he’d do it at home, but maybe it was about time Sam took some of his own advice when it came to hobbies and skills. It wasn’t the most fun he’d ever had - this was pretty laid back compared to corkscrewing through the sky - but it was satisfying to make a broth from scratch, test it, see complex layers of flavor developing.

“I can’t believe we’re watching Captain America learn to cook,” said the someone at the next bench, startling Sam out of his ruminations on food.

Sam glanced at the man on his left, then looked over to see a tall brown-haired woman, grinning as she watched Steve crunch on a handful of bean shoots for the first time.

“Yeah, me neither.”

At the end of the class, the teacher pointed out a few students who had made particularly good soups and then they all pulled up a stool to one of the high benches and tucked into a bowl. Sam was eating his own - he didn’t trust anyone else to use enough chili - but several of them took a ladle full of someone else’s soup to taste and compare. He felt very proud of Steve when he sipped a bowl from a woman named Julie and exclaimed over how good it was.

“So, lesson one. Success?” Sam asked, as they strolled to the car that night, each with a few takeout containers of phở that they were going to be eating for the next few days.

“That was a lot to take in, but I think I’ll be okay.” Steve grinned. “I’ve never had soup like this before.”

“Just the first of many adventures, I hope.”

“Yeah, I’ll get better at it.”

“And you made a friend.” Sam hopped into the driver’s seat and passed his carefully labelled containers of ‘Sam’s soup (HOT!!!)’ over to Steve for the ride.

“What?”

“I meant Julie.” Sam wiggled his eyebrows outrageously. “I see you liked her soup.”

Steve laughed. “Oh yeah, she was swell. Her cooking wasn’t as good as yours, though.”

“What? I didn’t think anyone would try mine when they saw how much chili was in there.”

“I liked it.”

“You didn’t even know what a chili was until two years ago!”

“So I have some catching up to do.”

“Man, you’re sneaky. When did you have time to taste mine? I didn’t even see you.”

“I conducted covert operations in a war zone,” he said, smugly. “I think I can get behind your back in the kitchen.”

Steve had never moved back to his apartment. He’d tried, the day after Fury’s ‘funeral’, when he asked Sam for a ride over there afterwards and didn’t stop Sam from coming upstairs with him. Perhaps Steve had forgotten the state he'd left it in, that he hadn’t just abandoned it because he was being hunted. Sam could see it when he opened the door and saw bullet holes in the walls and Nick Fury’s blood still staining the carpet. It was a subtle thing, the way he held his body, but Sam could see the cold prickling of shock coming over him almost as though he felt it himself.

“Come on, man,” he said, and carefully laid a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“We can clean this up,” Steve said, faintly.

“I don’t think so, Captain. You’re coming home with me.”

The choice to start with cooking lessons wasn’t meant to be a selfish one, but it definitely enhanced the experience of having Captain America stay at his house. The meals they cooked in class for the next few weeks were delicious. Sam hadn’t expected it to lead to them cooking at home together a couple of nights a week. After the slow-cooked tacos that Steve made one night, because he saw them on the internet and he just HAD to make them even if it took three hours, Sam hoped he was never going to leave.

They went out for drinks one night after class, all the students sans teacher, which felt like everything going to plan. Steve needed this, the hanging out with other people, the casual jokes and the breaking down of walls. Seeing Steve really mingle with a group of strangers, setting them all at ease, made him wonder whether Steve needed as much help as Natasha thought getting a date. He seemed to be doing just fine, and Sam took it as a good sign when Steve wandered off from the group to a different part of the bar, chatting with some strangers. Which left Sam with a group of their cooking class colleagues, having to remind _himself_ how to make new friends. Civilian friends, anyway. How long had it been since he made a new friend who wasn't a veteran? Or since _he'd_ been on a decent date? He thought about it when he wound up deep in conversation with Benjamin, who had recently started working for a congresswoman and wanted to learn to cook to try to force himself to go home for dinner some evenings, but while he was cute, Sam really didn't think dating someone who worked seventy hour weeks was what he was looking for. When he found himself yawning, he just said 'See you next week' and went to find Steve.

“Hey, I’m heading out,” he said, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “I just remembered that I’ve lived more years unfrozen than you have and I’m an old man who needs his slippers.”

“No problem. I’ll just get my coat and we can get a cab.”

“You don’t have to go,” Sam said, and glanced quickly at the girl Steve had been talking to. “You probably only need like three hours sleep, man, you can stay as long as you want. Just don’t wake me up when you get in.”

“I thought you said your apartment had been trashed and we couldn’t go back there,” the woman said, with a frown.

“Right. So I’m staying with a friend,” Steve said, quickly, already sidling away. “Nice to meet you. Sorry!”

Sam stepped after him as casually as possible, and didn’t catch him until they were out in the cool night air.

“Steve Rogers telling white lies to a lady, huh?”

“I… well… it seemed like the thing to do.”

“Okay. You know you can bring dates home to my place, right? If you want to.”

Steve had his hands in his pockets, and now he looked down at his shoes. “Yeah, I figured. I just didn’t want to bring her home, okay?”

“Okay. Sorry.”

They stood in silence for a moment by the side of the road, waiting for the next cab to come along.

“Thanks for saying it, though, I guess.” Steve added. “I never asked.”

“Should have said it sooner.” Sam kicked gently at Steve’s shoe. “You can also just tell girls you’re not interested in taking them home, if you want.”

“Yeah, I should try that next time.” He sighed, and finally looked back at Sam with a rueful smile. “I’m not used to girls asking.”

Sam started to laugh, only to find it cut off by another yawn. “Man, if you want me to tell you how pretty you are you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve had some sleep. Just trust me, girls are gonna ask.”

Steve wound up missing the last lesson in the cooking class on Avengers business. Sam joked about it, but he was genuinely disappointed. He should have known this was part of the deal when he signed on with Captain America, but he also thought being in on the Captain America business might mean he could on larger missions too. He doesn't need the reminder of Julie asking where Steve is today, too.

“Oh, you know. Important superhero stuff.” He’s concentrating very hard on not letting his lemon curd get scrambled. “I’m sure he misses you.”

“Well, we’re missing him. Do you think he could still make it to drinks tonight?”

Sam thought back to Steve’s vague information this morning, his earned “Sorry, Sam, you know I’d tell you if I could,” the empty space by the door where Steve’s gotta-go-on-a-mission duffel bag usually sat right next to his.

“I don’t think he’s going to make it for end of class drinks, no,” he said, slowly. “But I could give him your number, if you want.”

He didn’t ask whether Steve ever called her. Part of what made him so good at the VA was knowing when to push and when to leave someone alone to go at their own pace. Sam had realized early on that Steve was the kind who needed a light touch. He’d almost forgotten it until he got home one day and found Steve putting the finishing touches on a lemon meringue pie.

“Woah. But you missed that class!”

“I know! I’ve been kicking myself ever since, so I looked up some recipes and tried it myself. Do you think I got it right?”

Sam looked at him suspiciously. “You’re buttering me up. What, you want the bed to yourself on our next motel night so you can take up the whole mattress in peace? Is that an overcompensating thing for when you used to be tiny?”

“Nope, I always did that. Didn’t think I deserved any less space for being small.” Steve handed him a knife. “Come on, try it. I’m just trying to make up for leaving you behind.”

“Aw, Steve. You know I don’t want in on your Avengers action. That’s a world of crazy that I’m still too human to dabble in.”

Which wasn’t entirely true, and from the look on Steve’s face, he knew it. “You’re two degrees of separation from Tony Stark and you don’t want to meet him?”

“I know he’s planning to get me a new pair of wings and when he does, I’ll be right there to shake his hand. Apart from that, I don’t think your death missions are the place for me.” He cleared his throat. “Besides, I don’t think your super buddies have that much interest in meeting me.”

“Maybe I want my super buddies to meet this cool new guy who helped me beat Hydra, gave me a new place to live and comes with me to search for my old buddy. So, you know, if you want to come to Stark Tower some time and make me look real good in front of the girl at the front desk…”

“Okay, Captain, you don’t have to butter me up _that_ hard. You already made me pie.”

Sam’s mom only ever let him have a second slice of pie if he’d been very good. With no rules and a super soldier to help him out, they polished off the entire pie between them that evening.

“Okay, I feel like you’ve mastered cooking at this point,” Sam said, groaning on the couch. “Look at you, teaching yourself. That was better than mine, and I did it in a classroom.”

“There’s a lot more to learn,” Steve said, but he was faintly pink with the praise.

“You want to learn, though. That’s pretty cool.”

“It is. I’m glad we did cooking.” He paused, though, staring at the empty plate in his hands.

“But?”

“But I was thinking about what you said, about what I wanted to try to love.” Steve took a deep breath. “I don't know if I'd love it, but… music?”

“You want to learn an instrument?”

Steve nodded, still a little pink.

“Easy,” Sam said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s find some music lessons.”

The guy behind the counter is boggling at them. It’s a sight Sam is getting used to, part and parcel of working with Steve Rogers. Steve, to his credit, is unfailingly polite, trying to be casual and friendly and ask the teenager plenty of questions about his musical expertise. He listens thoughtfully every time the kid stammers out an answer. In the end, though, there are only so many questions you can ask about harmonicas for beginners.

“You’ve got fans everywhere we go,” Sam said, drily, as they both left the music shop with new harmonicas in their pockets.

“Oh, he was a good kid, I know he just wanted to help us make the best choices.”

“I appreciate that.” Sam pulled out the harmonica and frowned at it. “I have to admit, fifty bucks is more than I thought I’d pay for a little thing like this. What did these cost when you were young? Fifty cents?”

Steve shrugged. “Probably. I never went looking for music stores. I met a guy in the Army who had one, but I think it was a hand me down. Why?”

“Just wondered if it bothers you how much things cost now.”

“Nah, it’s almost too different for that. I just think of it as a foreign currency.” Steve was turning the harmonica case over in his fingers as they walked back to the car, like he couldn’t wait to get it open.

“So you never played music before? I always picture people in the past as playing music all the time. You know, no TV, nothing to do except sing.”

“Some folks do. Like I said, that guy in the Army. I was more into sketching, though. Watching baseball. Getting my ass beat. I did used to sing in the Army, though.” He launched into a truly obscene tune that soon had Sam doubled over with laughter, leaning against the side of his car.

“What about your family, though?” Steve asked, when they’d settled down and started driving off home. “Your grandparents. Did they play music?”

“Oh yeah. On my mom’s side, they were great singers, and my grandma could play piano. That funky make it up as you go along kind of playing as well as all our favorite songs. I was never much good at it, but she taught me a little bit and she made it fun.”

“Does she still play?”

“Nah, her fingers don’t let her any more. She’s still a hell of a singer, though.”

“She sounds amazing. I’d love to meet her some time.”

“Yeah? She’d love to meet you to, I’ll bet. If our mission ever takes us in the neighborhood, we can drop in and say hi.”

“And in the mean time, I can practice my own tunes to impress her.” Steve pulled out the harmonica, all shiny new plastic and steel. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I never had the breath for it before.”

Then he took a deep breath, put it to his lips and blew such a loud and obnoxious noise that Sam nearly drove off the road.

“Hmm,” he said, after a moment. “Good thing you’re making me take lessons.”

Sam wasn’t so sure that harmonica had been the right choice when they walked into the first lesson and saw how many men were in the group. It was good that Steve picked something out for himself, but if the point was to get him a date then this didn’t seem like exactly the right way to go about it. After the introductions, though, when three guys in a row said they were learning harmonica to pick up girls, he’s readjusting his opinion. Maybe they can go out to the harmonica equivalent of open mic nights together, or at least hang out and wingman for each other, give Sam a night off.

Also, the instructor is really hot, and Sam probably won’t ask him out or anything, but it’s fun to have a very attractive man looking closely at his mouth and covering his hands to correct his grip. Sam tries out some subtle flirting, dropping the kinds of hints that fly well under the radar when you’re in a room full of straight guys, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on any of it.

Ah well, Sam can live with it. It’s not why he’s here, and it was just a bit of fun. Besides, the guy’s not as hot as Steve, but it doesn’t do to dwell on that. Just one of the downsides of living and working with a man whose body was built by science to be magnificent - it’s hard to stop comparing other people to him when you end up staring at those shoulders every day.

Sam also fears he himself probably looks a lot less attractive next to Steve, who turns out to be unfairly good at the harmonica. Once he’s gotten through the first half hour and figured out the basics of breathing, he quickly goes from discordant experimental sounds to improvising catchy, rambling tunes that have everyone else staring and applauding. He’d be almost jealous of Steve’s instant skill if he weren’t so pleased about it. He’s practically bouncing as they leave the building and head towards home.

“I wish I didn’t have to wait a whole week to do that again. That was a great idea, Sam.”

“I don’t know why you still think you need lessons, man. You’ve already mastered it.”

“No way. I mean, yeah, I had a lot of fun, but there’s so much more to learn. I never would have been able to do this in my old life. Never in a million years.”

“Good thing those mad scientists of the forties fixed up your lungs so they could let that musician in you go loose.”

“I know! It feels so good to make something again, you know?” Steve spun off a few more notes and then grinned up at the sky.

It made Sam’s heart swell, seeing him so happy. Natasha might have a point about the benefits of dating, but Sam thought he needed this even more - having something that could make him smile, something all to himself.

If there was a problem with the harmonica class, it was that Steve was too good at it. A good problem to have, to be sure, but by the end of the term, Steve had gained a brand new skill, Sam had gained a pointless crush and neither of them had made any friends.

Which was fine, Sam had to remind himself. Getting Steve to date was Natasha’s goal, not his. He’d set out to find Steve a hobby, and it seemed like the harmonica lessons had really worked on that count. But he had really hoped Steve would at least make some new friends, talk to someone other than Sam.

When Steve had to ditch him abruptly one weekend for another Avengers mission, Sam also wondered whether _he_ needed to meet more people again, too.

“About time you called,” said Saxon from the VA, when she appeared on Sam’s doorstep with a pizza and some fancy soda water. Sam had hastily put away the beer that was proliferating since Steve moved in - he didn’t do alcohol when Saxon was around.

“Have I been that bad?”

“Worse,” she said, cheerfully. She vaulted over the back of the couch and landed on it with a _whoof_ almost bumped Sam's laptop right off it. “Where have you been, dude?”

“New hobbies, new side job.”

“New roommate,” she added, looking at the coffee table. “When did you get so much stuff?”

“Yeah, well, you know what happened.” Sam had talked about the battle of SHIELD in group therapy. How could he not? His face got on the news, and he was in a group of ex-soldiers who would definitely have some questions about his decision to go back to kinda, sorta military work, even if right now it mostly consisted of reading extremely dull HYDRA documents and staying in shitty motels.

“You didn’t mention he _moved in with you_ ,”

she said, accusingly.

“He had nowhere to go.”

“Right. Except he’s not here now, and that’s what it took for you to remember you had other friends.”

“Is this an intervention?”

She burst out laughing. “Wilson, if I thought you needed an intervention, the whole group would have busted down your door weeks ago. I’m just checking in. Making sure you haven’t lost yourself.”

Sam thought about it. He looked at the HYDRA files on his laptop, Steve’s books on the coffee table, the harmonica case that wasn’t on the coffee table because Steve didn’t leave home without it, the extra gallon of orange juice he always put in the cart when he went shopping. The morning runs he hadn’t gone on this week because Steve wasn’t there to go with him. The way he could see the empty space next to the front door where Steve’s duffel bag usually sat.

The way he wanted to so badly to tell Saxon that it wasn’t a problem, really, it was just that Steve was such good company, and made him laugh, and made his house feel whole, and that sometimes Sam liked having him there just so he could watch as Steve got really absorbed in his cooking or his harmonica practice, but he still seemed sad sometimes and Sam just wanted to shake the deep-down blues out of him somehow.

“Oh,” he said, out loud.

“Oh?”

“I need to meet new people, don’t I?”

Saxon cocked her head. “You want to tell me what went on just then?”

The vague images of all the new people _he'd_ met at these classes, and how none of them measured up to Steve? How he didn’t even want to try if it might mess up what he had now?

“No, I don’t want to tell you,” Sam said, firmly. “Play the damn movie, will you?”

Sam had expected Steve to protest when he said he wanted to try dancing classes. Steve had found his thing, Sam figured. It didn’t exactly work the way Sam had set out to do, but Steve fucking loved his harmonica, and if he still needed more friends Sam could probably encourage him to go to some kind of harmonica open mic night or something. Instead he had a whole speech prepared about how Steve had made him realize he needed a new hobby, too. He didn’t need it, though; Steve agreed without protest.

He did have some doubts about his enthusiasm when Steve’s HYDRA-file homework revealed a base they had to check out two days before their first class, and they were on the road within half an hour. This seemed like a very convenient way to accidentally miss their first session. When they stopped at their motel for the night and Sam caught up on the file himself, though, he had to admit that this one looked like it was for real. Whether this led them to Barnes or not, the safe house looked like it could still be active, and they couldn’t miss a chance to catch some live agents.

He was still absorbed in the file all through dinner - Steve did an extraordinary job of making delicious pasta sauce with a camp stove in a motel room - to the point where Steve had to wave a hand in front of his face to get his attention.

“What? Sorry.”

“You just look like you’re in deep there.”

“It’s interesting. What, you feel like I’m not paying you enough attention? Dinner was amazing, by the way, I’m so glad I made you take cooking classes.”

“You gotta pay attention for a moment or you don’t get your present.” Steve pushed a small package across the table, wrapped in brown paper.

“A gift? What’s the occasion?”

“A friend puts me up for free and helps me make my life better, and I need a reason for a gift?”

Sam pulled off the string and lifted out a pair of socks. Deep blue, with white bands on them, like Steve’s uniform.

“Did you make these?”

Steve grinned. “I told you I could knit.”

Sam held one up to the light. “Are they supposed to be lace?”

Steve kicked him under the table. “Shut up, I haven’t done this since the days when I had tiny fingers and now my tension is all over the place. I’m giving you the gift of my first post-freeze knitwear, be nice.”

“They’re great, Steve, thank you.” Sam said. Then, after a pause, “You cooked dinner and gave me home made socks. You’re going to ask me a favor, aren’t you?”

Steve cleared his throat. “You know those dancing lessons you convinced me to take next week…”

Sam tried not to let his heart sink. Steve doing this with him wasn’t the point. It was the _opposite_ of the point. This was for Sam, to put his hands on someone else’s waist and not think so much about Steve’s. “If you can’t make it, I understand. I still want to go if we can, though.”

“What? No. I was hoping you could help me practice. Just so I don’t make a fool of myself.”

“It’s okay to make a fool of yourself. You’re there to learn! Nobody expects you to know how to dance.”

“No, look, I’ve danced before." He grimaced. "I wasn’t that good at it but that’s not the point. The thing is, I don’t know how to lead.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighed. “I never got girls to dance with me before, so all the dancing I did was helping Bucky practice before his dates, so…”

It ticked over in Sam’s mind, the image surfacing in his brain and burning itself indelibly into his consciousness. “You only ever danced the woman’s part.”

Steve gave him a sheepish grin. “I just want to get one practice in so I don’t end up doing anything stupid.”

Sam did not know what to do with this. There were so many things going through his head. It was a bad idea. It was way closer than he wanted to be with Steve. It was not nearly as close as he wanted to be with Steve. Dancing lessons were supposed to give him another avenue to take this crush, not make it worse.

Instead he said “Sure,” and helped Steve shove the two twin beds together against a wall so they had a tiny space to dance in.

“Okay, so.” Steve rubbed his palms on his pants. “Oh, right, we need music.”

“You mean you didn’t bring your turntable?”

“I know how to stream music,” Steve said, indignantly. “Well, and, look, it’s hard to find anything on 45s.”

Sam was still searching for a snappy retort to that when Steve set his phone down on the table and hit play. He stepped into Sam’s space and raised his hands tentatively as the music filled the room. One hand clasping Sam's, the other on his waist.

“Is this right, or is it the other hand?”

“Man, if I knew that I wouldn’t be taking lessons.”

Sam really couldn’t pay attention to the steps for a few moments. His head was a jumble of things - the image of a small young Steve dancing with Bucky, the warmth of Steve’s hands, his awareness of the exact shape of the small space between their bodies. He tries to just let his feet follow Steve’s and focus on the music instead. It’s the kind of thing he likes, slow and soulful, saxophone to piano to horns.

It was the kind of music he liked because he knew it, Sam realized. This was one of the instrumental pieces off ‘Trouble Man’. Steve had picked his favorite album to dance to. And then suddenly it was over, and Sam had no idea what had been going on except that they hadn’t fallen over and his hands were still in Steve’s.

This was the point where they were supposed to drop their hands and move away, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to do it. He just stood there, feeling the heat from Steve’s body and the weight of Steve’s hand on his hip, struggling not to step even closer and press his whole body against Steve’s.

The funny thing was, Steve wasn’t moving either. He just stood there, too, his arms around Sam, staring right into his eyes in a way that made it really, really hard not to kiss him. It was only just dawning on Sam that maybe that had been the point after all.

He licked his lips and shifted forward, almost nose to nose with Steve until he could feel Steve’s hot breath on his mouth.

“I don’t want to mess up a good partnership, Cap,” he said, amazed at how rough his own voice sounded. “So can you tell me if I’m reading this right?”

“It took you long enough,” said Steve, his voice just as breathy.

“Took me… man, what the hell do you -”

Sam was abruptly cut off by Steve's lips on his, and he didn't bother trying to keep talking.

It wasn’t as if Sam had spent a lot of time imagining this moment. He spent more time trying not to. But he had thought about it happening something like this, in a motel room when they were out on the road, with Steve’s arms around him. He hadn’t dared imagine it this long, or this intense, something intentional instead of a moment of boredom and loneliness.

Sam was short of breath when Steve finally pulled away, and it took him a moment to arrange the indignant expression back on his face. “Seriously though, what do you mean, it took me long enough?”

“I’ve been trying to hint, you just don’t seem to get it.”

“ _Hint?_ I thought you just needed cheering up. I was trying to get you to date other people!”

“What? I don’t want other people.”

“I figured that! I just didn’t think that meant you wanted _me_.”

“I made you socks!”

They stared at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“We do still have a fight ahead of us tomorrow,” Sam said, ruefully. “Otherwise I’d love to stay up all night finding out just how much you want me.”

Steve pulled him close, tucking his chin over Sam’s shoulder. “Let’s go to bed and snuggle,” he said, in his best attempt at seduction, and Sam laughed all over again.

Sam had gotten used to staying out of the Avengers’ way. That was too much of the life he’d left behind when he quit the Air Force, even if there was a lot less of the taking orders with them. He also hadn’t gotten used to being invited to the Avengers’ parties. It was something he could definitely get used to, though.

“I cannot believe how good this Scotch is,” he said, reeling. “Is this some mystical brew concoction that only gets broken out to celebrate superhero victory?”

Steve grinned at him. “Oh, is it especially good? I just thought it was, you know. Modern era better. In my day we mostly just had moonshine.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Rhodey advised. “He knows exactly how good it is. He’s trying to get you drunk so he can beat you at pool.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is,” Sam locked eyes with Steve as he threw back the last of his glass. “You don’t know how good I am, soldier. Buy me another and maybe then you’ll have a hope.”

“Drinks are on the house,” Steve said, with a half-smile. “But sure, I can escort you to the bar.”

Sam passed his pool cue to Rhodes and fell into step with Steve as they crossed the floor of the party. He had to put his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out and putting his arm around Steve’s waist. It had been his idea not to tell the rest of the Avengers that they were ‘an item’, as Steve put it, and he was already having trouble resisting.

When he’d said that, the day before the party, Steve had been surprisingly taken aback.

“I’m not ashamed of you, Sam,” he said. “And if the rest of them think I’m some old fuddy duddy who’s never heard of being gay then they deserve to be shocked.”

“You are a national treasure in more ways than I ever imagined. No, dude, I’m proud of you too. I wasn’t sure you’d be comfortable telling everyone yet, but it’s so amazing that you are.”

“So we can tell them?”

“Soon. But Steve, it’s been a week since we got together and you spent half of that on an Avengers operation in Eastern Europe. I haven’t met most of these people before. Let me get comfortable with them a little first, will you?”

It had been true - Sam was nowhere near ready to be introduced to the fucking Avengers as Steve Rogers’ boyfriend yet. But there were other reasons to keep it quiet.

“So this is life being friends with Tony Stark, huh?” Sam asked, as he swirled the second drink in his glass. “Penthouse parties, the best liquor on the house, magical service robots. Maybe I shacked up with the wrong Avenger.”

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Steve said, his eyes sparkling. “You’re welcome to ask Tony if he’s in the market for a sidekick. Just so long as you don’t mind fast talking and being experimented on.”

“Nah, you know me,” Sam said. “I like to take things a little slower. In fact, I could use a little time out from this bustling party. You know anywhere quiet around here?”

The balcony wasn’t exactly what Sam thought of as ‘quiet’. In sound, yes, and there was nobody else out there just now. It also happened to have an extraordinary view of the lights of New York and the couple of stars that shone through the city light pollution in the wide expanse of sky above them. He had about five seconds for the view to take his breath away before Steve pulled him into a dark corner to the right of the door and pressed him against the wall, catching Sam’s breath with his mouth instead.

One day soon they’d tell everyone, Sam knew. And maybe then they’d have to figure out the whole complicated task of Captain America coming out publicly. For now, he wanted nothing more than the delicious fun of sneaking out of a party at Stark Tower to have Steve kiss him under the night sky. His forearms framed either side of Sam’s head, leaning against the wall, and his thigh was pressing firmly between Sam’s legs. Steve kissed hungrily, like he was afraid of missing out, and it gave him the heady thrill of kissing a new person and all the fun of kissing someone who was starting to get the hang of what Sam liked, figuring out the things that could make him gasp.

Sam was pondering the merits of going home early when they heard the whoosh of the door, and instantly Steve shifted back, his back straight, head bowed as though he was simply sharing some intel. Sam didn’t feel nearly as cool - his legs felt shaky as he pushed himself off the wall - but he was pleased to see Steve didn’t look nearly as cool as he was acting, either, with his shirt rumpled where Sam had grabbed a fistful of it, and an uncomfortable shift in his hips.

“Oh, there you are,” said Stark, sticking his head out. “Cap, Are you coming back, or do you have another of your secret missions to go on? Rhodey keeps asking me if you’ve chickened out of your game of pool.”

“I’m no chicken,” Steve said, calmly. “Tell him I’ll be back in a minute to beat his ass.”

“Woah, don’t let the public hear you talk dirty like that,” said Stark, with a roll of his eyes, and disappeared again without another word.

They stared at each other for a minute.

“Well, go on then,” Sam said, amused. “Duty calls.”

“Come with me. You were playing, too.”

“If I come with you there’s going to be no keeping my hands off you.” Sam gave his ass a quick squeeze, making him jump, and breezed on past. “I’m going to go mingle and meet a few more of your superhero buddies. Don’t you worry. I won’t be far behind.”

Sam did spend a while talking to Thor about exactly how Asgardian interstellar transport worked, although he couldn’t entirely believe it. Most of his time, though, he spent talking to some of the older veterans at the party. They’d just gotten up and left him alone at the booth, citing old age and early bedtimes, when Natasha slipped in next to him.

“So how’s our little project going?”

Sam blanked for a moment before he remembered why he’d pushed Steve into cooking classes to begin with. “I’d say we’re having some success.”

“Last I heard you were getting him to learn the harmonica.”

“You shouldn’t doubt my methods.” Sam grinned to himself. “Guys like Steve, they can take some time.”

Natasha sighed. “Has he at least met some girls?”

“Oh, he’s met people,” Sam said, which wasn’t a lie at all. He’d met Julie in his cooking classes, and he loved talking with the guys in his harmonica class and listening to all the music they recommended. Steve would probably find himself some great dance partners at the swing class if he ever made it to them, too. He’d just gotten a little busy this school term, and kept finding reasons to stay in on Saturday night.

“Well, good,” Nat grumbled. “I guess if he’s meeting people he can take all the time he wants. I swear, he never tells me anything.”

Sam looked over at a nearby lounge, where Steve was sitting between Thor and Barton, laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world. It was the most relaxed Sam ever saw him, except when he was eating something delicious, or playing a tune first thing in the morning while he made breakfast, or lying back in bed after Sam had spent an hour fucking him to pieces.

“He’ll tell you when he’s ready,” Sam said, with a grin. “Trust me. You left him in good hands.”


End file.
